


Reclamation

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hunters International
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:07:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Slavic gods are tired of being left out and forgotten in their own lands and the other gods ignoring them when the fate of the world hangs in the balance is adding insult to injury. After a thousand years of peace, the Slavic gods want to take back what was once theirs and will stop at nothing to achieve their goal.</p><p>As if the Apocalypse wasn't enough, Joanna and her family of hunters have to deal with monsters that haven’t been seen in hundreds of years. Creatures known only from legends roam the country and Joanna has to figure out who sent them and why, before it’s too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reclamation

Something stirred in the shadows. The forest animals ran in panic, rabbits next to wolves, more afraid of the bodiless anger than of the predators. Even the wisents, the unquestionable lords of those woods, rushed frantically as fast and far as they could.  
  
A tree fell, split in half by lightning.  
  
Next to it, figures started to form from the shadows. Although their human-like shapes could be distinguished, it seemed like the slightest gust of wind could make them into nothing more that clouds of smoke. They were constantly moving, as if trying to find a shape that fit them perfectly but failing.  
  
A man with four faces appeared in the center of the group. He didn't have to turn around as he looked at everyone who surrounded him.  
  
‘So we were ignored once again,’ he said and some of them murmured in agreement, ‘They think they can leave us out, treat us like we don’t exist?’  
  
They were angry now. Their shapes got more human as they screamed about the injustice they suffered.  
  
‘They even invited the _cook!_ The god of the stove? He’s not better than us!’  
  
‘A loa! Imagine that! We are gods! And there they are, plotting with a loa!’  
  
‘We will show them our true power, then,’ the four-faced man spoke again, gesturing for outers to quiet down, ‘They didn’t want us to help, so we will not.’  
  
Again, many voices spoke at once. Many agreed but, as is the case with gods, they could not live I accordance for a long time.  
  
‘Why should we listen to you? You’re not the boss of us!’  
  
One of the god’s four faces rolled its eyes, another twitched with anger. Before he could answer, a large man with a copper beard came to stand by his side.  
‘But I am,’ he said, swinging his huge axe, and everybody fell silent, ‘And I say, if they want to battle angels, let them. But we will take back what is ours. We’ve been ignored and forgotten for too long.’  
  
Another lightning struck and the gods cheered. The humans would learn to fear them again.  
  
____

May 2010, Lublin, Poland

There are nights when people just know they should stay home, lock the doors and do not, under any circumstances, go outside. Sometimes some almost forgotten instincts scream that staying inside is the only way to stay alive. Maybe it is because of the way the wind whistles, the sound that touches some primal fears from the times when being eaten by a giant predator was the easy way to die. Or maybe because of the way the shadows move, seemingly on their own, suggesting that it really wouldn’t be the easy way this time. Those fears, of course, were just silly tales, a way of explaining things people didn’t understand back then. Or so everyone thinks.  
  
This, however, was not one of those nights.  
  
The weather was just absolutely horrible. It was unusually cold for May and it’s been raining for about a week, so instead of celebrating the national tradition of grill and beer, the inhabitants of the city stared at the dark clouds, muttering angrily.  
  
It was fortunate, as it provided a perfect opportunity for a young hunter, who came to town following a case of a vengeful spirit of a very unsuccessful and bitter poet, to salt and burn the corpse without being seen. Joanna, of course, had a different opinion on the subject of ‘fortunate’. She would much rather hide from anyone who could see her – and curse whoever decided it was such a good idea to have a graveyard practically in the center of the city – than try to start a fire in the pouring rain, knee-deep in mud.  
  
She swept her wet hair from her face, and with an exasperated sigh, threw another box of matches into the coffin. Five down, she thought, checking the contents of her black bag, about thirty to go.  
  
‘Burn, you asshole! God, I’m gonna be here all night.’  
  
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and winced uncomfortably when she felt that there was probably an entire lake in her boots. Trying unsuccessfully to get her damn hair out of her eyes, she left a smudge of mud on her forehead. At least if anyone did choose to take a walk through the cemetery, they certainly wouldn’t think she was digging up a grave to steal from it. They’d probably think she crawled out of it herself. Although who would want to get out in this weather, she didn’t know. Even the spirit did not put up much of a fight, but it could have just been because the poet felt satisfied that someone finally paid attention to him.  
  
‘Come on, that’s it…’ she looked expectantly and the small fire in the half-open grave. The marble plate, moved only slightly, provided a cover from the rain, but the damn body just didn’t want to burn. ‘Jackass. So somebody didn’t like your poems. Big deal! They suck, now burn!’  
  
Joanna stood next to the grave, cursing the spirit that brought her there and pretending the tiny fire made her just a little bit warmer. She was pissed, tired and soaking wet. The only thing she wanted was to spend a few hours in a hot shower and finally get enough sleep before moving on to a different case. Was it really too much to ask for? Couldn’t the damn scribbler just burn down already and let her leave this place?  
  
Half an hour of complaining later, the body finally turned into… not exactly ash, but something as close as it was possible in the present circumstances. Joanna glanced hatefully at the grave for the last time and dug the heels of her boots in the mud and pushed the tombstone trying to get it back in its place. Her hands slipped on the wet stone and for a second she had a very uncomfortable vision of gathering her teeth from the graveyard mud, but fortunately she managed to regain her balance and pushed again. This time she heard a thud and her work was done.  
  
She grabbed her wet bag from the ground and her even more wet from the wing of a nearby praying angel and turned around to leave. The bag she threw to the other side of the wall made a sound that suggested it fell into a body of water she was sure wasn’t there before. With a groan she climbed the wall and shot the angel that held her jacket an angry look.  
  
‘I’m watching you, asshat.’  
  
The statue remained impassive. Joanna jumped, hoping that the sound from the other side of the wall wasn’t really her bag falling in a large, muddy puddle.  
  
It was.  
  
She dragged her feet towards her car, muttering profanities under her breath.

  


____

 _‘Carry on my wayward son, the—‘_ Joanna groaned loudly and reached for her phone. Whoever was calling her should really have a good reason for waking her up so early.  
‘What?’ she barked, not even moving her head from under the pillow.  
  
’Is this really the right way to talk to your grandmother?’  
  
‘It is if she wakes me up at this ungodly hour. What is it?’  
  
‘I really have to talk to your father…’ sighed the older woman, ‘I need you to come here and bring your brother, everybody’s coming to talk about what is happening right now.’  
  
‘The Apocalypse is happening, we all know that. What is there to talk about? Are we gonna talk the bad guys to death? And why are you calling me and not Rob?’  
  
‘Don’t be difficult. I want you and Robert home tonight.’  
  
‘Yeah ok fi—‘ she rolled to her back and looked at the phone in disbelief, ‘Oh, right. Hang up, of course. Typical.’  
  
She threw the covers away and regretted this decision immediately, as the cold air hit her. Cursing to herself which, she noticed, became a new habit since she started hunting alone, she opened her bag to find some clean clothes. Her younger brother was always teasing her because she adopted what he called the ‘American hunting fashion’. Plaid shirts and jeans were crumpled together in the bag, mixing with sports bras and single socks that she could never find a pair for. She would have to buy some new ones on their way to her grandmother’s house or the dreadful woman wouldn’t leave her alone.  
  
‘I swear it’s like my fucking clothes are more important than the Apocalypse. Why do we even bother with killing demons if I could just stop losing socks and the world would be a peaceful place again,’ she said to the open bag. Like the angel figure from the cemetery, the pants and shirts had no answers for Joanna, ‘I have to stop talking to myself,’ she sighed heavily, pulling a black t-shirt over her head.  
  
Luckily, her brother lived in a dorm across the parking from the one she stayed in for the night. When she got to her car she spotted Robert with a bag of his own. The little freak wasn’t hard to see even in the crowd of students hurrying to get to their classes. Joanna could have sworn he grew even taller since she last saw him, as if that was even possible. Why couldn’t she win the genetic lottery and be a bit taller and nicer herself, she never knew. Instead, she had her mother’s meager height and bad mouth and dad’s short temper. Adding to that the fact that she was raised as a hunter from a family consisting entirely of hunters (although there was someone on her grandfather’s side who, like Ron Weasley’s cousin, wasn't really talked about in the family because he was a regular person who had no dealings with the supernatural) made her life among normal people a bit hard. Especially when she was at the university herself.  
  
Explaining the insane amounts of salt in her apartment was one of the hardest things she ever did, and that’s saying something, considering that she killed her first vampire when she was fifteen.  
  
‘Yo, brother!’ she yelled across the parking and waved to get Rob’s attention. He smiled at her and threw his bag in the trunk of an old Ford to give her a hug, ‘Wrong car kid, you’re coming with me.’  
  
‘What? Why?’  
  
‘Because our dearest grandmother commanded it. Apparently,’ she added, grabbing Rob’s luggage, ‘we are all just a bunch of idiots who would forget about the end of days without her reminding us every five minutes.’  
  
‘Fine,’ he sighed, ‘let me just explain to my girlfriend…’  
  
‘Oh, you had something planned?’  
  
‘No, I just really love packing for no reason. Go wait in the car, I don’t want you to talk to her.’  
  
‘Why, are you ashamed of your favorite sister?’ she asked, throwing his bag over her shoulder, ‘Huh? Are you?’  
  
‘You’re my only sister. And I don’t want her to know I’m related to someone like that. Now go away.’  
  
Joanna laughed and punched his arm before heading back to her car. Robert tried to hit her back, but she dodged his hand.  
  
‘Five minutes. And I’m gonna kick your ass for that, you little shit.’

 

‘Okay,’ Rob said, taking a seat beside Joanna in her Toyota, ‘let’s go. You know what, I really don’t know why grandma pisses you off so much. I mean, you two are really alike.’  
  
‘You say that again,’ she answered, maneuvering the car out of the parking, ‘and I’ll shoot you in the face.’


End file.
